Sweet sixteen. I successfully graduate from school. All seven final exams passed with great results. Congratulations from teachers. Even making friendship with my geography teacher, who I had been in fight with for a year. Finally recognizing my passion for his subject, he wraps his arms joyfully around me together with the delivery of a congrats rose.
I love my summer holidays! They feel so different this time 😀 No more school! Ten years in the same building, and no more! I feel free, light. I hold the whole world of opportunities in my hands. I can become anything. Do anything. I can finally choose. I feel like a hero. I feel glorious.
Heroes, though, recognize sooner or later that there are higher forces at times. For me it came with the news that my tonsils need removal. Both. Holy sunshine… Okay, it’s just for a week, after all.
I check in the hos(pi)tal. My blood is drawn in liters. I wonder. Do they really just make “necessary” tests? Or does it go straight to the blood bank? I stop thinking when getting hold of the easy chair in my hos(pi)tal room and faint. Great start.
I share my room with four girls. Nice company, all of them there for the same issue. I will be operated on while fully conscious. Oh, well, I will survive. I am a hero after all. A patient hero. Or a heroic patient. Whatever. I go through the procedure. My advice for others – better be unconscious. Or prevent it at all.
For days I have nothing to do but waiting until I can eat again. I look out of the window, and appreciate what I see. I am greeted by an ocean of green leaves of different color and shape, which is fluttering in the wind, laughing in the sun, revealing beautiful roofs, birds hovering above them, rising up to the far sky on this sunny day. I am fascinated by the view. What a gorgeous room I booked! Well, was given… The beautiful scene hypnotizes me. I take paper and pencil in my hand and start drawing. I do it everyday. I enjoy it. What a precious experience, drawing leaf after leaf, line after line, detail after detail… I am in another world while drawing, kept completely at the moment. I rejoice in it.
Time seems moving faster now. I get to eat again. Only a few days left until my hos(pi)tal stay finishes. I am grateful I can capture this view on paper. I store the drawing carefully on the window sill. I keep it far away from the rough nurse who rushes each morning thunderous through our room following the order to do her cleaning job well – and fast. It’s a nerve-racking task to watch over my drawing in her presence. A big sigh when she leaves the room.
Two days left. My drawing lays on the window sill, far enough from the flower vase my mom had filled with all her heart. The cleaning nurse appears. Wipe-wash-rumble-rush-thunder-SPLASH!!! She tips over the flower vase. Gosh! Blood is rushing through my veins. My head’s boiling. She did it! My drawing soaks wet. I jump out of the bed rescuing it. It’s hard to believe it happened. She knew it is precious to me. Did she do it on purpose? My shock turns into temper. Before I can address my feelings she disappears. I swallow hard. No apology after all.
This event drops my fascination for the scenery. It’s still magnificent to watch, only my eagerness to capture it disappeared. I leave the hos(pi)tal. My drawing stays unfinished. Forever?